Gilded Version
by Dylan Kennedy
Summary: A young man follows in the footsteps of Ethan, embarking on his own Pokemon journey. Along the way he has misadventures, battles, and self-discovery. He finds that some people are made for great things, and others are made for slightly less.
1. Prologue

Prologue

I've known ever since I could walk, that one day, I would try to be a pokemon master. Of course the key word in that statement is "try", because there were two that I could never even hope to beat. One of them was a scoundrel, a pokemon theif and a douchebag if there ever was one. The other was quite a hero, but I always wondered _why _he did the things he did. I just wanted to make a badass team, but I think he did it because he really loved pokemon.

But of course, this is not his story. This is my story.

My name is Ryan. Compared to Ethan, I'm as much of an also-ran as Gary Oak had been to Red. I don't know them or anything, don't ask me to pass on fanmail, but they're part of the reason I wanted to train pokemon.

My grandpa was. He _founded _the Pokemon Combat Unit that Lt. Surge served in. I now see that mixing up pokemon in the field of battle, forcing them to kill humans and take bullets meant for humans, is not at all humane or acceptable. Kids, however, have a while before their view of the innocent world is spoiled. So I loved him and had one hell of a case of hero worship going.

The day I graduated from secondary school was the first day of my adventure. Tertiary schooling wasn't required by law, it was purely optional. People go there to become scientists and things like that, but I had bigger plans. I came home from school and found a pokeball sitting on the kitchen counter.

"Dad?" I called out. I heard footsteps at the stairs and his figure popped into the room. He was stroking his beard, the classic Dad's-a-thinkin' pose.

"Hey there son. This might come off as a surprise to you, but I know exactly what you mean to tell me. You graduated secondary school today…and now you want to start your pokemon journey. So far, so good?"

I nodded, utterly speechless.

"You remember when Ethan left home a few weeks ago after Dr. Elm's lab was robbed?"

I nodded again. "Of course I remember, dad. Ethan left town to chase after that thief and show him what a real trainer does to pricks, sorry dad, like him."

Dad narrowed his eyes at me. He was such a tool about swearing. "That may be part of it, sure enough, but he was really asked to carry out a mission. Well, an errand. But an important one. You have no such errand, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't go out and experience the world."

Dad took the pokeball from the table and handed it to me. "This was the last one left after that thief and Ethan took their pokemon from Elm's lab. What was that thief's name anyway?"

I tried my hardest to remember what Ethan had said it was. I remembered, but even still, I wonder whether that was really his name or whether Ethan had been a smartass. "I think Ethan said his name was PRICKFACE. That can't be right though, could it?"

Dad smiled and stifled a giggle. "Professor Oak's grandson's name is rumored to be DOUCHENOZZLE. Do not doubt the idiocy in others, my boy. Now here, use that pokeball and take a look at your first friend. Your first teammate. Your first pokemon."

I threw the ball out and began to scream internally. "Dad, you got me my favorite. _YOU GOT ME A TOTODILE!_" I screamed, externally this time. I ran up and hugged my Totodile, who actually seemed uncomfortable at first. He relaxed after a few seconds, but I'll never forget the slight moment of heartbreak I felt when he almost retreated.

"Dad this is," and then I made a noise that cannot possibly be described in any human language.

"Give him a name! You owe him that much."

I took another look at my Totodile. I was thinking of a name when I was suddenly overcome by some intense force, almost as if someone else _forced _me to come up with the spontaneous name. "I want to name him STEVE IRWIN."

My dad scratched his chin.

"Croikey!" I yelled, though I still don't know why.


	2. Beginnings  I

Chapter One:

Beginnings

I

I took a long look in the mirror of my bathroom. This would be the last time I would ever do so, at least that's what I thought at the time, so I made it last. I observed every attribute of myself: from my ridiculously over-gelled hair, to my shirt with a "P!" on it, to my cargo shorts, to my tennis shoes on my feet. Back in my day, we didn't have running shoes, so we kids lacked real speed, and had to either walk or bike everywhere. It was really inconvenient.

I finished examining myself, brushed my teeth, and left my house for my adventure. That was what I have taken to calling it, because even though I never aspired to be quite as great as I wanted, the journey was still great.

I left my house with Steve Irwin tottering along behind me. The sun was high still, just past three, and the weather was fair. I took a big breath of New Bark Town's air before taking a step onto Route 29. I was never allowed to go out there alone, but I was my own man now. I had a pokemon and five thousand bucks and the rest was up to me.

An old man approached me faster than I thought the elderly could ever hope to move. "Hello there sonny boy!" he said. "Do you know how to catch pokemon?"

"Yes I-"

"NONSENSE! Come with me and I'll show you!" he yelled, cutting me off

"How about no, creepy old man?" I said. Steve was peeping around my leg, making some low rumbly noise. I think he was trying to growl, but was finding himself a little uncertain. Regardless, the old man walked away and left me be. I continued into the high grass and heard a rustle in the brush to my left.

A Ratatta came flying out of the brush at Steve. "_**FUCKIN RATATTA!**_" I screamed. Steve took a claw to the stomach, leaving red marks, but drawing no blood. My first battle wasn't going to be a loss, goddamnit.

"Steve, use scratch!" I commanded. Steve retaliated with his own claws, sending the Ratatta reeling. I tore one of the five pokeballs Dad gave me off my belt and hurled it mindlessly at the Ratatta.

The ball opened and Ratatta went in. Steve and I watched the ball intently as it rattled back and forth.

Finally, it stopped moving. I had myself a Ratatta. I thought about naming it, and before I could help myself, I found my fingers typing the words "Fuckin' Ratatta" into my wrist computer.


End file.
